Viscum Cruciatum
by generalsleepy
Summary: Hitch is homesick. Tully knows what to do about that.


Hitch looked up at the roof of the tent, where an angle sunshine glared through a small tear in the canvas. "It just doesn't feel right."

He glanced down to see Tully staring at him. His mouth was currently stuffed with some of the chocolate fudge Hitch's mom had sent him. Sitting together on Hitch's cot, they'd vacuumed up most of it in a matter of minutes. Tully's eyes wordlessly conveyed his question.

Hitch shrugged. "It's supposed to snow at Christmas. At least be cold. Here, it's, what, 70, and the sun's out like always. if you looked outside right now, you'd have no idea it's supposed to be Christmas."

Tully chewed thoughtfully. Once he'd swallowed, he said, "Yeah, it snowed at home for me too."

Hitch sighed. He picked one of the last bites of fudge out of the package. If he was being honest, it wasn't the sun and heat that had him that annoyed. He was more thinking about the note included in the package.

Mom told him all about the Christmas dinner they'd made with vegetables from their victory garden. About how Hitch's dog still hated going out in the snow. How his aunts and uncles came in from New York. How they couldn't get the little cousins to stop playing in the snow even for meals. How they'd set out a stocking for him. How they all were praying for him to return soon. How much she missed him. How much his father missed him, even though he wouldn't say it.

When he read, " _Merry Christmas. I love you Mark,_ " he could hear her voice as clearly as if she were there with him. He wanted to be with her, sitting around a crackling fire, eating fudge and drinking coffee, while his mother played Christmas carols on the piano, and everything outside the window was fluffy white snow. He wanted to be home.

The heat didn't help.

Hitch wiped crumbs off his hands. He picked his legs off the ground and folded them Indian style. "Ah, well. I bet there's some guys in a trench up in France who would kick our teeth in for bitching about it _not_ snowing."

Tully nodded. "I hate snow," he stated plainly.

"I guess that's great for you." Hitch couldn't keep a slight grumble out of his voice.

They were the only ones in the small tent. Most everyone was out, enjoying the few hours of free time afforded by the holiday, drawn an impromptu inter-company soccer tournament set up in the center of camp. They'd last seen Troy and Moffitt playing with the backgammon board Moffitt's father had sent him. The pained, frustrated look in Moffitt's eyes conveyed that Troy was doing much better than Moffitt thought he would, and he wasn't sure how to deal with that.

After reading the note, Hitch hadn't quite felt like mingling with crowds. Still, he didn't want to be alone. He was grateful that Tully had accepted immediately when he offered to share the treats. Hitch struggled to tell whether Tully had simply been interested in the homemade sweets or had known that Hitch needed company. The other man could be more difficult to read than footprints after a sandstorm. Sometimes Hitch found the lack of judgment comforting. Sometimes he wanted to grab him by the shoulders, shake him, and demand to know what was going on behind those glassy brown eyes.

Hitch had a sinking feeling he was doing a bad job of hiding his melancholy mood. He took off his glasses and busied himself cleaning the lenses with the bedsheets.

"Just a little bit though," he said, not looking over at the man next to him. "Just an inch of snow, so you know it's winter outside."

The cot shifted as Tully stood up. Hitch put his glasses back on to watch as Tully walked the short distance to his own cot. Smoothly and methodically, he gathered up his blanket and then turned back to Hitch.

"What are you—?" Hitch began. He was cut off as Tully tossed the blanket over his head, covering Hitch in musty darkness. "What the hell?" Hitch exclaimed. He reached to the back of the blanket to pull it off.

He was stopped by Tully putting one large hand on the top of Hitch's covered head. "Look," he said, voice partly muffled. "When you're under there, it's like you're bundled up. Like it's cold outside, so you're all wrapped up in your bed with a coat and longjohns on so it feels warm. Not like it's hotter than hell outside."

Hitch opened his mouth, prepared to brush aside another of Tully's inexplicable flights of imagination. Then, for a moment, he actually considered the idea. He remembered long December nights when the wind had been howling outside. Hitch's mother piled covers on him like she was trying to smother him under them. Wrapped up in blankets and warm clothes, sometimes he'd find himself actually sweating, but it still felt comfortable, knowing the cold that was out there.

He tried to imagine that the heat he was feeling was that, and not the relentless desert sun. Maybe it was because his mind was already brimming with memories of home, but it wasn't too hard to put himself there. A dopey grin spread across his face that he was glad was hidden by the blanket.

"I guess you're right," he said. "Like mom's got the hot water bottle in under the blankets."

"Just like home," Tully agreed. From under the blanket, all that Hitch could see was the vague shape of Tully, silhouetted by the faint light.

A moment passed, before Hitch said, "You know, I have to look pretty stupid under this thing, with you just sitting there."

He felt the cot shifting, and then Tully lifted up a side of the blanket. For a second, he actually expected cold to rush in. Tully scooted closer, until his thigh was against Hitch's knee, then let the blanket fall under both of them. Hitch could just make out his face, only inches from his own. There was just the hint of a smile, almost imperceptible, in his eyes and the corners of his mouth.

"There," he said, as if this were the most natural course of action.

Hitch snorted. "Now it looks like we're playing a game of seven minutes in heaven."

Tully's brow wrinkled in confusion. "Huh?"

"Never mind." Hitch couldn't help a little laugh, as he thought about how ridiculous the scene must look to anyone walking in on this: two grown men huddled up under a single blanket, like little kids plotting mischeif after their parents had gone to bed.

He could already feel the additional heat from Tully's body heat so close and trapped under their drape. Feeling the presence beside him made it that much easier to focus on what was going on under the blanket, and ignore the world outside.

He realized that Tully was staring at him. Hitch might have felt uncomfortable, pinned down by someone else's gaze that close, but Tully's warm, open eyes were so familiar. He couldn't help but reflect some of the calm in Tully's expression.

The two men were silent a moment, the distant clamor of the soccer game barely audible. When Tully spoke, his voice was soft and Hitch could feel his breath on his cheek. "You know we're gettin' home soon, right?"

Tully had read his mind. He knew full well what Hitch meant when he complained about the weather. Hitch didn't know what to say, but didn't have to, as Tully continued.

"We're not gonna be here forever. There's still snow at home, and it's still gonna be there when we get back. You understand?"

Hitch nodded slowly. "Yeah."

"I'm gonna be here with you," Tully said. Hitch thought he'd moved closer, so they were breathing the same hot, heavy air. "Whole time. 'Till we get back. All right? We're gonna get home."

Hitch swallowed. "Yeah." His voice felt weak. "Sometime."

"You and me. I'll be with you till we get home."

"We're going to get back home," Hitch repeated. He didn't care how stupid it sounded. He wanted to hear Tully confirm it. Everything about the way Tully spoke and the way that he looked at him made Hitch believe what he was saying was true.

Tully nodded. "Promise." His voice was barely above a whisper. Slowly, he raised one of his hands and pressed it to Hitch's cheek. His fingers were ice cold. Hitch's first instinct was to lean into the one source of cold in the close heat. _Cold hands, warm heart_ , he could hear his mother say.

When Tully leaned in closer, Hitch somehow wasn't surprised. Tully's lips were cool against his cheek. He drew away and then Hitch's breath stopped as Tully kissed his lips.

The kiss was soft, barely there. Hitch's heart was pounding, but his brain wouldn't process any meaningful thoughts. He just knew how good it felt to be warm and be held and trust that someone was going to take care of him until he was home. _Tully_ was going to take care of him.

Tully pulled away, still close enough that their noses were almost touching. Hitch didn't realize that he'd shut his eyes. He didn't notice that his glasses had fallen down his nose, until Tully carefully pushed them back up. Hitch didn't think before kissing Tully again.

When Tully next pulled away, Hitch tried to follow him, before opening his eyes. Tully was looking down, while one hand dug around in his pocket. He pulled out a sprig of small, bright green leaves, slightly crushed, dotted with red berries. He held it up between their faces, displaying it for Hitch.

"Viscum cruciatum," he enunciated carefully. "Moffitt found it. African mistletoe." A genuine, honest-to-god smile spread across Tully's face. Hitch couldn't help but burst out laughing, his head bowed forward. Tully pressed a hand to the back of Hitch's neck, sliding through his hair. He kissed the crown of his head, then rested his cheek there.

After the laughter faded, a smile lingered on Hitch's lips. He wound a hand around Tully's waist and gripped the back of his shirt hard. He was close enough to hear Tully's heartbeat against his ear.

"Thanks," he said softly, not sure what exactly he was thanking him for.

"No problem," Tully answered. He stayed holding Hitch, like a lover, not like a friend.

Hitch couldn't make himself care though. He closed his eyes and held Tully back. He was sure that outside, snow was falling.


End file.
